Alaska
by ficdirectory
Summary: The floatplane crashes on the way back from Alaska. **1st Place: Best Team Fic in the 2011 Criminal Minds Favorite Fic Awards at LiveJournal**
1. Chapter 1

_Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are._  
- Arthur Golden

It comes to him in pieces as he looks up at the cloudy sky. The case. The plane. Alaska. It had all exhausted him, and Rossi had unapologetically, somehow, managed to fall asleep in the time it took between takeoff and right now. He has no idea what happened or how he got here. All he knows for sure is, something isn't right.

Somehow, he is in the middle of the woods. It's cold. A steady rain has started to fall, and thunder and lightening boom and flash all around him. Rossi stands and tries to get his bearings. If he can figure out where the hell he is, then maybe he can piece together what happened.

He listens, and hears an unnatural quiet, but for the storm. When he tries to move, Rossi feels a bone-deep ache as if everything inside him has been jerked or crunched.

All at once, other sounds began to register. Raised voices. Screams.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! Where are JJ and Emily?"

The girls.

His team.

Rossi gets up and staggers toward the sound of the noise. He finds what he should have noticed all along. Their little floatplane in pieces. The stink of fuel and flames being doused here and there by the rain.

He goes down a mental checklist, counting off his team. He finds Reid first, as Reid was the one who had spoken. He has a ragged scrap of Derek's tee shirt tied around his forehead as a makeshift bandage. That must mean Derek is around here somewhere. Hopefully safe.

"Are you okay?" Rossi calls.

"Yeah!" Reid replies to be heard over the storm raging and the wreckage groaning. "We have to go help! We've got to find them!"

Rossi blinks. He doesn't think it's wise to point out that right now, he can't find anyone other than Reid. And then, on closer inspection, he sees Hotch, moving slowly away from the plane, as if in a daze.

"Come on, Garcia! Leave it! We gotta go!" Derek calls over the commotion. He is bare-chested and Rossi wonders where the rest of his shirt is. Did it vaporize? Squinting, he notices a piece around Derek's own forearm. Stunned, Rossi recognizes a piece of Derek's shirt wrapped around one of Rossi's hands. He hadn't even noticed he was injured.

Rossi squints in the rain to see her struggling with a carry-on.

"I can't leave this!"

"Yes, you can! And you're gonna have to! This thing's gonna blow. Now stop fighting me on this, woman, and run!" Derek says, giving her a hard shove away from the plane.

Rossi is shocked when he sees her strap the bag to her back and run hard. She doesn't have shoes on. He remembers how she likes her feet to be free on long flights. Absently, he wonders if that's what she has in the bag.

Shaking his head, to clear it, Rossi goes to Reid first. "Go with Penelope!" Thunder cracks above them. "Stay _away_ from the plane and away from each other! Crouch on the ground with your head down! Don't touch each other, and don't move until I come for you!" he instructs. "Derek! Take Hotch with you! Run as hard as you can that way! Spencer will tell you what to do!"

For once, Derek complies without a fight.

Taking a deep breath, Rossi rushes toward the plane - toward the danger and the searing heat. He hasn't seen them from his current position, so he rushes around to the other side of the wreckage.

There.

Streaked with dirt and water, JJ is squatting, her hiking boots digging into the fresh earth. All her muscles are taut. She is pulling on something. No, not something. Some_one_.

As Rossi comes closer, he can see one of Emily's hands - nails bitten to the quick. He can hear her choking. Screaming in pain.

"I can't get to her. I tried, but the opening... It's not big enough..." JJ is strangely calm, relaying this information. When he encourages her to step away - to get to safety away from the plane - she refuses.

"I promised," she said simply as lightening flashes too close for comfort.

Rossi gets to work, widening the hole where Emily's hand is protruding. It reminds him of digging through rubble after an earthquake. It's hard. Everything's slippery. It's dark. He can't see what he's doing. And his damn hand hasn't stopped throbbing. What the hell is wrong with it, anyway?

"What can we do?" Spencer asks, apparently leading the team back to the burning plane, and away from their best chance at survival.

Rossi doesn't bother to turn. Emily doesn't have time for conversations to happen while she is trapped. He keeps removing debris while JJ keeps Emily talking. Keeps doing what she can to clear away broken pieces of plane. Keeps trying to pull Emily free of the wreckage.

"We need to widen this!" JJ passes along, and just like that, they get to work. Penelope in her black clothes and red gloves. Derek, still naked from the waist up. Hotch, looking stunned and determined, and Spencer determinedly trying to create some type of system so that the plane won't shift and crush their friend.

Just like that, they are a team. United in this one thing. This one effort. The only common goal they ever work for: to save a life. To stay together. But, Rossi knows, they don't do this because it's their job. They do this because they are family. They can no sooner abandon Emily as they could a sister, a daughter, a granddaughter - to an awful fate like this.

Pain slices through his hands but Rossi perseveres. He can see more and more of Emily now. He can see just what he needs to move in order to get her out.

But that will take time, Rossi knows. And he prays that Emily has the time to take. 

* * *

Rossi is exhausted. His hands are bloody. His body aches and he is drenched by the time they are able to pull Emily free.

Derek gets a hold of her and gives her a firm yank. She screams and it's such an agonized sound that for a moment, Derek stops. But her voice, inside the shell of the plane, is determined.

"Derek...for God's sake...don't stop!"

Then, he does not hesitate. Determination shines in his eyes, as he braces himself for what he needs to do. He plants his feet and drags her out, inch by inch until they can see all of her. Without anything left to fight against, Derek falls backward in the mud.

One of Emily's legs is bloody and badly burned. Her black slacks are melted to her skin. Her face is streaked with gray. She is shaking. Wracked with terrible coughing, but she is out. JJ has, somehow, never let go of her hand.

"It's okay... We've got you... It's okay now..." JJ reassures gently, Emily's head resting in her lap.

The plane groans, and Rossi glances up. For the first time, he registers that they crashed on an incline. In addition to the risk they ran of being too near this thing when it exploded, now they also had to worry about it skidding down its hill and crushing them.

"Move! Now!" he shouts, in a voice that leaves no room for argument. 

* * *

Seconds.

That's all they have before the plane started its descent. They run hard into the woods - Derek carrying Emily - because right now, the woods are their only option.

And Rossi can do nothing but watch from a distance as their only way out of this mess rolls down the hill and bursts into flame, taking their pilot with it.

He crouches on the ground, praying to a God he believes in more often than he doubts. Prays that this is over soon. Prays that somehow, his team is safe. He counts them off in his head, imagining them taking cover various places. He hopes they remember his direction. Hopes they don't do what feels most natural and lie on the ground - making themselves a larger target for lightening to strike.

He hopes they are brave enough to not huddle together like their instinct would have them do, but instead, ride the storm out alone. Rossi hopes like hell that rescue comes before it is too late.


	2. Chapter 2

_Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves._  
- John Muir

Garcia is glad she has the bag. She has never been happier about dropping almost 100 dollars on this ridiculous go-bag survival kit. Everyone had teased her on the plane ride out there. Rossi had asked if she planned to go camping in the woods. Derek had tried to get her to leave it behind after the crash, but she had insisted on taking it. Now, she can't imagine what they would have done without it.

Now that there is literally nothing left of their little plane but a burned shell, and all they have are the clothes on their backs. Even if she can't bring herself to wear proper shoes, she at least makes sure they'll have something, by way of supplies. All the rest of them are chilled to the bone. Soaked. And Emily is really hurt. JJ has yet to leave her side. Right now, she has Emily's burned leg propped up on a rock and is using any rainwater from any surface to cool the place where Emily's pants are stuck and still cooking the skin underneath.

The storm has passed finally. Thank God. Now, she is carefully going through her backpack, laying out the things she managed to save, while the guys try to see about shelter.

Garcia's eyes fall on the water first. Nine eight-ounce boxes of purified water. Quickly, Garcia does the math in her head. About ten ounces per person, that has to last them who-knows-how-long. With Emily several feet away, still in terrible pain, it seems obvious what the next step is. She brings the water over and dumps it beside JJ.

"Here. It's clean."

"Garcia..." JJ starts, unsure.

"Don't use all of it on me..." Emily protests, gasping in pain even as she speaks. "If we're stuck here for any length of time, we're going to need it. I can handle this."

"We can collect water and boil it." Rossi announces from nearby, a note of authority in his voice. He is constructing a series of lean-to's with Hotch and Derek. Spencer is nearby foraging - possibly for nuts or berries - using a big piece of wood as a walking stick to steady himself.

"I'm fine!" Emily objects, wincing.

"Don't fight us on this one, Emily. JJ, use Garcia's water. Keep that leg up and keep it cooled for as long as the water holds out. We'll work on getting more."

"Okay," JJ returns and dutifully pours water onto the wound. "You're gonna be all right," she reassures, though Emily doesn't seem worried in the least.

Garcia goes back to her supplies. "Oh. Here. Jaje. Since you're the doctor..." Garcia says and tosses the miniature first-aid kit her way. Inside, there are adhesive bandages, gauze and other things that just might come in handy.

Still laid out on the rock are six MREs. Garcia has never had an MRE before, but she has already decided that her curiosity can wait. She's giving these to her team. Garcia will make due with the energy bar for herself, and if anyone has a problem with that, well, tough cookies. She has the supplies so she gets to decide who gets what. She takes out the Survival Kit in a Can, setting it aside. Maybe this can go to JJ and Emily, too. Quickly she takes inventory of what is left and repacks the bag, zipping it securely before she gets up, prepared to see how she can help. 

* * *

She thinks she is prepared for the waiting. For the wet, cold outdoors without a guarantee of safety or rescue. She knows already that Spencer has pilfered through her bag and claimed her only reflective surface and is using it to send SOS signals in Morse code to no one.

Emily is finally sleeping. Fitfully at least, but it's something. Somehow, Hotch, Derek and Rossi are so amazing that they have actually managed to build another lean-to around Emily so she will not have to be move to get shelter. They shelters are made up of mostly large branches with leaves and moss covering them. In addition to stealing Garcia's mirror, Spencer has also managed to amass a pretty impressive pile of berries and nuts. Hotch has moved onto starting a fire, and Garcia offers her matches. It's right in the middle of their tiny tent city, and it would be almost cozy if they weren't trapped out here.

Garcia's never been one to go all gung-ho about nature, but she's got to admit, it's pretty out here. Even amidst all the destruction and injury. She can't help but look for the good. It's in her nature.

She makes the rounds, making sure everyone is okay, relatively speaking. She offers what little medical treatment she can by sending Derek, Spencer and Rossi to Emily and JJ's hospital lean-to for treatment. For a minute, Garcia finds herself worrying about tonight.

Will they be warm enough? What about bears?

Maybe it's better if they just make one giant lean-to and all bunk down together. Besides, Derek doesn't have a shirt and she doesn't have shoes. They'll need each other's body heat. 

* * *

Garcia doesn't look at her watch. She doesn't want to think about when it gets dark. So, instead, she sticks close to JJ, who is still watching over Emily.

"How is she?"

JJ shrugs. "I have no idea."

Impulsively, Garcia reaches out and rubs JJ's shoulder. "How about you?"

"I have no idea," JJ repeats, and Garcia studies her. There is dirt streaked on her face. She is shivering. Her hands are red with cold.

So Garcia does what she can.

"Here," she says, offering the red fingerless gloves. She contemplated wearing them as socks when she double-checked her bag and found a spare pair of tennis shoes inside, along with warm socks, and three sets of clothes.

She already tried giving Derek the poncho, but he won't take it. He keeps insisting that he's fine. He's hot, even. Garcia knows that is a bunch of malarkey since it's cold enough that they all huddle around the fire even before it's dark.

They do their best to dry off. To keep Emily comfortable. JJ blocks her view of their campfire, because seeing it freaks her out and she starts screaming, thinking she's trapped in the plane again.

Garcia shudders. She remembers it too well. Luckily, she had been right near an exit. She had seen the orange ball of flames inside...had felt the heat of it. The terror she feels thinking about it is incomparable to anything she has ever known and she wasn't even touched by it. She still has a vague anxiety that she'll be eaten by the sun. It's leftover from childhood when she heard the story of Chicken Little.

"The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"

She remembers the dialogue clearly, and with it, the horrible fear about what would happen if the sun fell down. It would be dark, yes. But that was a minor concern compared to the fear she felt when she thought of the sun burning her.

At the time, it had seemed silly. Childish.

Now, Garcia wonders if maybe, she knew more than she realized.

Because the fire in the plane was just like that - as if the sun itself burst through the window of the tiny plane.

Now, Garcia wonders if she has a sixth sense, or if she is simply fulfilling her own prophecy.

"We have to be prepared for the worst case scenario," Hotch says, sounding like himself for the first time.

"Which is what?" Derek asks, a little irritably. Garcia can see from where she sits that he is cold. Hungry. Exhausted. And scared. They all are.

"That storm," Rossi puts in. "It's gonna slow down any potential rescue efforts."

"Meaning, we act with an abundance of caution. We'll have to ration food and water. Look out for each other. It could be days until we're found. Maybe longer. Alaska's one of the most dangerous places to fly because of its unpredictable weather."

Garcia sits close to her friends and bows her head, her optimism bubbling to the surface in spite of herself. If she has to be stuck out here, she is glad that at least, she isn't alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Death is natural and necessary, but not just. It is a random force of nature; survival is equally accidental. Each loss is an occasion to remember that survival is a gift._  
- Harriet McBryde Johnson

When darkness falls, Hotch thinks of Jack. He wonders what his son has been told, and hopes it isn't much. Hopes no one has told him anything. It will be better that way. The longer Jack is kept in the dark, the better. He just lost his mother. He does not need to contemplate losing his father, too.

He glances down at himself and feels lucky, though a pencil protrudes from his thigh like a victory flag in a battle. It had taken hours before anyone noticed it, and that was just as well. Hotch doesn't need to be focused on. He doesn't need undue attention. The rest of them have real injuries. Emily, in particular, is burned, and it is impossible to know the severity while her clothes remain stuck to the wound. It makes the stabbing pain he experiences whenever he takes a step seem small.

He has been working with the walkie-talkie that Spencer found while searching for God-knows-what in the woods. So far, there's been no contact with the outside world, but Hotch keeps trying. They can't keep going like this. The odds are not in their favor.

Beside the fire, Hotch forces himself to stay awake. In the shelters all around him, he hopes his team is getting rest, but he isn't sure if that's the case. He knows Emily is awake, because he hears her alternately cursing her own pain, screaming or insisting that she is fine. Rossi has finally managed to take over where JJ left off. They all decided it would be best, as Dave has the most knowledge and skill as an outdoorsman, and knows a thing or two about how to manage injuries. Probably none this bad, and probably not in this circumstance, but Hotch forces himself not to think about it.

He gets up and walks around their little camp. He checks on everyone. Emily and Rossi. Penelope and Derek. JJ and Spencer. Everything is quiet, and the temperature is dropping. Hotch hopes that there isn't more rain. He limps slowly back to the fire, and builds up the circle of rocks around it.

He starts talking, almost without realizing it.

"Haley, what did I get into, here?" he asks the night sky. It's blacker than anything he has ever seen, not a single star above him. "I know if you were here, you'd have told me to stop taking so many chances. To relax. To stay home with Jack. But if I stayed with him, I wouldn't be here with my team now. And I know Jack needs me, but _they_ need me, too..."

Hotch trails off, unsure why, when all else fails him, he does not pray, but instead, speaks into the darkness, hoping Haley can hear him. It has not been long since he lost her. Still, for Hotch, the only thing to do had been to return to work. It was that or drown in grief.

There is a rustling behind him, and Hotch turns.

"It's just me," JJ whispers, sitting down to join him.

"Can't sleep?" he asks.

"No," she says, and rubs her hands together. "It's too cold in there, and Spence keeps telling me horrible plane crash statistics and coming up with all the ways we could die out here... Not very comforting."

Hotch stays quiet, but puts an arm around her, as much for body heat as to offer support.

There is a long pause and Hotch almost takes his arm back when JJ leans into him and shudders. He thinks the reality of their predicament might be finally setting in but instead she pulls away abruptly and whispers heavily, a note of scolding, somehow, in her tone.

"Holy... Hotch... You've been walking around here with a _pencil_ hanging out of your leg? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You didn't pull it out. That's good," JJ grimaced. He knew she was observing just how deep the wood was buried in him.

"Common sense," Hotch dismissed.

"Well, that has to be immobilized so it doesn't move or break off or something..." JJ says decidedly and excuses herself to Emily's hut, where Rossi was keeping watch over her.

JJ returns moments later, with gauze, and insists on wrapping the thing so it cannot move. She is determined and will not take no for an answer.

When that's done, it seems, she has to choice but to relax. Or at least try. But still, she finds more to do. Noticing the abandoned walkie-talkie nearby, JJ picks it up and shakes it. Turns it over. Checks the batteries.

"It was full of water. It's not going to work," Hotch offers apologetically.

In a flash of temper, JJ hurls it away from them, and toward whatever remains of the burned plane.

"Hotch, what the hell are we gonna do if we can't get out of here? Emily is like..." JJ trails off, her voice intense and quiet. "I should have never said we'd take this case..."

There is silence. Hotch can tell JJ is near tears and even though that is an anomaly so rare he is compelled to say something to soothe her worry, he finds he can think of nothing to say. He is in the same state of mind. While logically, he knows that by now someone surely is aware of their disappearance, it doesn't make their reality any easier to swallow. They're here. _He's_ here. And Jack is home.

"Hey."

Another voice, quiet and strong. This one, somehow warms the cold night air. It holds a note of reassurance that Hotch wishes he could summon himself.

Derek sits down between them and puts an arm around each one. "This is nobody's fault. Okay, Superwoman?" Derek turns to JJ in the firelight and stares at her, taking in what Hotch cannot. He takes in her tears. Her distress. Her anger. Her fear. "You did the best that you could. They needed us in Hamilton, and we did what we came to do. No one could have predicted this..."

"Yeah, I understand _that_ but-"

"'But' nothin'," Derek says firmly, a finger to her lips. "Look, I get it, okay? We're stuck and that's some scary-ass shit. But we have to stay positive..."

"Hey...my girl... What's wrong?" Garcia asks, making her way to the fire and sitting on JJ's other side.

"Nothing. I'm okay," JJ denies, drying her eyes.

But Garcia pulls her close, as if she has said just the opposite, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. She rests her chin there and addresses Derek, as matter-of-fact as ever.

"It's cold in there, you know. Without your body heat..."

Derek smirks. "Yeah, well... Now, we got a fire to keep us warm..."

"What's going on?"

Hotch sighs as Spencer joins the group of them. At this rate, they were going to fade even faster out here, due to sleep-deprivation. Still, Hotch knew it was pointless for them to all be alone and cold and awake when they might find comfort from simply being together.

"Is that a pencil?" Spencer asks, squinting. "We could use that..."

"How's your head?" Hotch questions, waving Spencer's curious hand away from his leg.

"It hurts a little."

"Liar. It hurts a lot," Derek accuses, concern showing in his eyes.

Spencer shrugs, as if it is all the same to him. Garcia rises to find the painkillers in her survival kit and JJ approaches him to check out his head wound.

"What the heck happened to you?" JJ asks, gently maneuvering the piece of Derek's tee shirt away from the injury.

"Something hit me, I guess..."

JJ rolls her eyes and then catches herself. "Did you lose consciousness?" she asks, concerned.

"I'm not sure. It's possible."

"God... Okay... We need to watch him," she says raising her voice just a little so Garcia, Morgan and Hotch can all be sure she is serious.

Hotch sits back and puts his head in his hands. This isn't getting better, only worse. He feels guilt pressing down on him and can't fight its weight.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, and everyone turns to look.

"What are you talkin' about?" Derek demands.

"I'm the leader of this team. It's my job to make sure all of you are safe and taken care of, and I haven't been doing that." Hotch lets out a breath, but does not feel any better.

"Nah, nah, nah," Derek denies. "Don't go there. We need you doin' things _with_ us, not _for_ us. _Our_ job," he insists, his voice steady, "is to take care of _each other_, and we're doing that. You need to quit blamin' yourself, and you, too, Miss Thang," he says looking to JJ. "This was nobody's fault." 


	4. Chapter 4

_But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for._  
- Paulo Coelho

Spending a night in the Alaskan wilderness with burns and smoke inhalation is like suffering in a special circle of hell, where your flesh is simultaneously sizzling and freezing. Luckily, Emily has had plenty of experience with suffering. Voluntary and otherwise.

She smells earth and cold around her, and tries not to let the fact that Rossi is wrapped around her for body heat put her off. Body heat is a necessity, and because she cannot move or be moved, and cannot stand the sight of the campfire, this is the next best thing. Despite the fact that Garcia has passed along three spare pairs of pants, three shirts and a blanket to keep her warm.

Outside, she can hear them talking. She tries to tell Rossi to go ahead, too. "I don't need a baby-sitter..." she grumbles. Really, she just needs a minute to herself so she can let off some stress and not feel weak about it. She has a feeling Rossi would be okay with seeing her cry, but _she_ would feel more comfortable if she were alone.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks, holding her a little tighter.

She winces as her leg is jostled the tiniest bit. "Yeah," she grinds the word out between clenched teeth. "Listen. It's really fine. I'll be okay for a few minutes. Why don't you go powwow with them and figure out what the hell we're gonna do, and then come back and tell me?"

He hesitates then, she can feel it in his quiet behind her.

"I'll send JJ in," he decides, and Emily bristles.

"Don't. I don't need company. I need quiet," she insists, biting off the words.

"All right," Rossi concedes softly and makes his way outside.

When he is far enough away, Emily lets the tears fall, keeping her back to the fire and the group outside her dwelling. She bites her lip. She keeps it quiet. But the truth is, her leg is killing her. And she has to give herself a few minutes to panic. To grieve. To entertain the possibility of what might happen, if only so she can prepare herself mentally for having to endure it.

Because what if they don't make it out? What if they're never found? Alaskan wilderness is nothing if not remote. What if infection sets into her leg? Rossi and JJ have done their best to keep it clean but Emily is realistic. There's the possibility of infection. Shock. Exposure. There are a million ways she can die out here, and Emily is not ready.

She has found something she truly loves doing. People she honestly likes being around. They are like family. She does not know what she will do if anything happens to any of them, so Emily concentrates. She sucks it up, and she makes a choice. She will die. Everybody will, sometime. But Emily decides that she is not dying tonight. She is staying alive.

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, composing herself a long time before Rossi rejoins her. 

* * *

"So, what's the latest?" Rossi asks.

"A pencil impaled Hotch in the thigh," Spencer volunteers, sounding impressed.

"Would you shut up about the pencil?" JJ asks irritably. Emily imagines her tense as she tends to Spencer. To Hotch. To everyone but herself. She remembers JJ coming in for gauze, with tears still drying on her face. "_You're_ one to talk, anyway," JJ continues, talking to Spencer. "You have a seriously nasty head-wound…"

"It's probably not as bad as it looks. Head lacerations bleed more than injuries to other parts of the body, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're more severe," Emily can hear Spencer's quiet confidence - the way he clings to facts - in the face of so much unknown.

"Nothing," Hotch says. He answers Rossi's earlier question sounding uncharacteristically shaken. "How's Emily?"

"I can hear you!" Emily calls, equal parts pain and fierceness lacing her voice.

She imagines the perplexed and amused look Rossi is giving them and a thin smile stretches her mouth, despite her current situation.

"She can hear us," Rossi passes along, matter-of-factly. "Emily?" he asks loudly. "How are you?"

"Fine!" she insists, despite the fact that she is sweating, experiencing the most intense throbbing she has ever known. "Now let's make a plan and get the hell out of here!"

"Okay," Derek jumps into the conversation, and Emily is glad. He seems to be the one keeping his head the most through this mess. "Well, thanks to Garcia we've got food, water… We've got shelter. Those are the most important things."

"What about rescue?" Garcia asks, giving a voice to Emily's most pressing concern.

"We can't control that," Derek says simply.

"I know that, but how long can we survive out here, on what we've got?"

"Most doctors and nutritionists agree people can go anywhere from four to six weeks without food as long as they are well-hydrated. Of course, that depends on various factors, such as overall health, body weight, genetics and environment…but a person can only go about three _days_ without water. That would be our most pressing need at the moment," Spencer fills in, yelping in pain. Emily imagines JJ disinfecting the gash on his head.

"Sorry," JJ murmurs.

"Let's just take one thing at a time." Derek encourages. 

* * *

Outside, their voices have carried in, along with a cold that seeps into Emily's bones. Helpless, she reaches out to pack Garcia's extra clothes tighter around her. If nothing else, she should insulate her femoral artery the best she can, so that she can stay as warm as possible, for as long as possible.

Like an answer to a prayer Emily hasn't said, JJ crawls inside and moves alongside her, putting an arm across her chest.

Because Emily is not ready to talk, she feigns sleep, though it's hard with the searing pain and the cold competing for her attention.

"You okay?" JJ asks, her voice low and nearly a whisper, but not quite. She asks like she expects Emily to answer. Like she doesn't believe for a second that Emily is sleeping.

There is a comfort in JJ's embrace, a relief in knowing a friend is nearby. Someone Emily can potentially be vulnerable around, if it comes to that. Hell, it was JJ who tried to get her out of the plane. It was JJ who practically dragged Emily along to an opening - any opening - and kept contact, even after she freed herself. If Emily could endure that kind of torture and still have JJ beside her now, offering support… Well, that's something. She may be young, but JJ's strong.

Still, Emily doesn't stir. She waits.

"You're not," JJ sighs, knowing. "You're not because I'm not either. We're not gonna survive a month-and-a-half out here… Emily, I can't do this…"

Just like that, JJ's voice breaks. Just like that, there are more tears. Honest tears. The kind Emily needed privacy to shed. But JJ is a little braver.

"Garcia almost died on that case…running out to help somebody who was hurt. Now? _We're_ gonna die! Now…we're God-knows-where, and I don't know what to expect. I hate it out here. I'm… God, Emily… I'm _scared_, okay?"

JJ's breath is warm on the edges of Emily's ear. Slowly, she moves her own fingers so they are intertwined with JJ's. So she will feel less alone.

"Me, too."

"Faker," JJ manages, forcing a laugh. "I knew you weren't asleep."

"I don't think any of us are going to sleep tonight…" Emily ventures, wincing as pain rips through her. JJ squeezes her hand.

Silence falls around them, but it has no weight. No warmth. Maybe that's why JJ fills it. Maybe that's why she chooses to tell Emily what she does. It leaves her speechless, like so much of what JJ has admitted so far.

"You remind me of my sister…" JJ confesses.

"I…didn't know you _had_ a sister," Emily admits, feeling surprise ripple through her. JJ is so self-sufficient. So similar to Emily, herself, that she has been sure for all these years that JJ grew up an only child.

Emily opens her eyes, and tries to find JJ's face in the darkness. She can see almost nothing thanks to the distant fading firelight. But JJ's voice is thick with emotion.

"I do…I _did_… You're about the same age as she was…"

Emily is holding her breath and she doesn't know why. She doesn't ask what happened, because she can hear the cracks in JJ's voice. The wounds that are not even close to healed. So, instead, Emily listens, using all the energy she might have put toward her pain, to just be here for someone else.

"She…hated the outdoors, but I loved it. I always asked her to have campouts with me. Not sleepovers. Campouts. In the living room. In the back yard. Wherever. The last time I did this…curled up next to somebody in a tent? I was ten. A few months later, she committed suicide. I was home at the time, but our parents weren't. I couldn't save her."

Silently, Emily squeezes the hand in her own.

"You saved _me_," she tells JJ softly.


	5. Chapter 5

_For one swallow does not make a summer, nor does one day; and so too one day, or a short time, does not make a man…_  
- Aristotle

Time is stretching out, despite Spencer's rational mind telling him that this does not happen. Time is the same, regardless of circumstance. But this night… It seems to go on interminably. The cold leaves him with no good options except remaining by the fire, which isn't something he is particularly fond of, given that when they crashed here, their plane burst into flames. Really, it's a miracle only one of them came away from the experience with serious burns. It's amazing that they all got out. Well, except for the pilot.

By now, according to Spencer's watch, it's pushing three o'clock in the morning. By now, he had hoped to be getting out of here. But so far, there is no sign of anyone coming to their rescue. There is no indication that anyone even knows they aren't yet where they should be.

His head aches, and Spencer fingers the gauze. He is startled when Garcia grasps his hand in her own. Honestly, he has forgotten she's still here with him. Everyone else has left. Hotch, Morgan, Rossi... Emily never joined them in the first place, and JJ was the first to leave in order to keep Emily company.

Slowly, his mind comes back to the present and Garcia's hand holding his own.

"What?" he asks softly.

"It won't heal if you keep touching it."

"It's only been thirteen hours since it happened. Probably wouldn't be healed yet, regardless..."

The silence around them is heavy. Pregnant with something. Finally, Garcia speaks.

"Thirteen hours... God, Reid... Do you think they'll find us?"

"I honestly don't know," he admits, feeling inadequate in the face of so much outside of his control. He leans toward her, not away, as his instinct suggests, wanting to help in some way, because he obviously cannot give her the answer she wants to hear.

She sighs and puts her arm around him, pulling him closer.

He lets her, because it is very cold, and closeness is a good idea. Because he does not want hypothermia.

"I should have known when I ran toward that guy the other night..." Garcia muses quietly.

"Should have known what?"

"That something wasn't right!" she insists, a little louder than she means to. "That the universe was trying to tell me something, bad karma was at work, evil spirits, I don't know!"

"Do you regret it?" he asks evenly, keeping his gaze on the fire, not on Garcia.

There is a pause as she considers this.

"No. No, I don't _regret_ it, honey, but it was unnatural for me, you know? I usually guard against negativity, I don't run towards it."

"I don't think it was unnatural at all..." Reid offers.

"How come?"

"Because being compassionate is in your nature. It's an intrinsic part of you. You think you run from suffering, but you don't. You try to soothe it. It's who you are."

He chooses his words carefully, hoping she gets what he is trying to say. He hopes the meaning isn't lost in this darkness. In the greatness of this tragedy.

For her part, Garcia says nothing, just pulls him closer and presses a kiss to the gauze wrapped around his head. 

* * *

The flames have a kind of hypnotizing effect. Reid stares into them, and then past them, into the biting cold. He can see his breath. He can hear his heartbeat. The dirt under his feet is soft and giving, and if he listens hard enough, Spencer can hear a shovel sinking in rhythmically.

Garcia, of course, knows none of this. She just continues to sit nearby, determined to stay awake with him, because she doesn't want him left alone.

She doesn't know that this place in the woods has suddenly become more meaningful - more sinister - than it already is. Here is why.

It is a crash site. But it is also a graveyard. Because there is a pilot, dead, in what remains of their plane. Not so far at all from where he sits. And being too near death gives Reid cause to remember the only time his life was ever truly at risk.

Mostly, he tries to forget. To bury it in current work, or a good book, or a conversation or a movie or any of a million things that might occupy his mind at a given moment. But out here, there is nothing but time to think and remember and relive these horrors. This darkness is an inky darkness, so similar to the night in Georgia that Reid has to blink hard to reassure himself he is not there now. He is here, with Garcia.

They are here, but they are not safe.

He feels his breath growing thinner as panic climbs up the inside of his chest. The fact that it is so cold he can see his own breath only makes things worse.

Spencer remembers the cold biting into his fingers as he dug the hole outside. No...not the hole...his grave. He remembers the pain in his foot. The throbbing in his head. The fear when Raphael leveled the gun in Spencer's face and made him choose a member of his own team to be murdered.

He tries to take a deep breath - the thing that always calms him down - but it does no good now. Because his respiration is already too shallow. And it's all Reid can do to just stare into this all-consuming blackness and pray to something...anything...to help him before he passes out. 

* * *

"Hey, Reid? You okay?" Garcia asks, concerned. The change in him is so gradual that she almost misses it.

She has been busy measuring the sounds of wild animals in the night and trying to gauge whether the howling of the wolf she heard was coming closer or staying put. She has it on good authority that they all need to guard against wolves, bears, caribou and moose. It isn't reassuring, but neither is the noise that her favorite genius is making. His breathing has gone from deep and even to desperate and reedy with an edge of something.

She squints in the firelight. He won't look at her. That, of course, is nothing new. He has never been a huge fan of eye-contact, but there is definitely something going on here. Something more than the chilly temperature is getting to him.

Then, just like that, it hits her.

"Okay," she says softly, as if he has told her all his demons. As if he has confessed it all to her. "Put your head down. Breathe slow..."

"Can't..." he gasps. "I'm not strong enough..."

"Okay. You listen to me," Garcia chastises gently. "You don't have to be strong. Just breathe. All right? That's all you have to do."

Under her hand, Reid is shivering. His breathing is starting to calm. A little. Maybe. Garcia rubs his back and tries to make everything okay. Or, at least, a little better.

"Tobias," Reid manages. It's almost a whimper and it scares Garcia so much she nearly jumps. Because what the hell is Reid doing thinking of the guy that kidnapped him four years ago, anyway?

But in a second she understands.

It's this place. Being here jars loose all their demons. Reid can't face what's happening now. This uncertainty. So, maybe, he's panicking about something he can wrap his head around. As terrifying as his ordeal in Georgia was, at least he knows how it ends. At least, somewhere, Reid knows that eventually, people came for him.

"Okay. It's okay. It's Garcia. You're safe with me," she says even as she doubts the truth in her own words, and tears fall down her cheeks. Still, Garcia repeats herself, willing him to hear her. Willing him to believe her. 

* * *

"Garcia?" Reid whispers, when he can think again. He finds himself staring at the dirt between his shoes, feels her hand on his back. Isn't sure how he got like this.

But his ghosts linger all too vivid on the edges of his memory. He is just glad that, for now, they have gone.

"Right here," she reassures quietly. "He can't hurt you anymore, okay? I promise."

Reid bites his lip. If her words came from anyone else, he might feel compelled to rush through his feelings. To shrug off her words. To pretend. But since they are from her, Reid hesitates.

"Okay," he manages, his voice hoarse. He eases himself upright, and turns to look her in the eyes.

She looks back, unafraid, just as he predicted. Gentle. Kind. Loving. Just as he predicted.

"See?" he asks, his voice shaking a little. Hope shines unmistakably in his eyes. "I knew you wouldn't run." 


	6. Chapter 6

_I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true. I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live by the light that I have…_

- Abraham Lincoln

Derek never really fell asleep. Noises kept him up - scratching at the back of his consciousness until he inevitably would rise to check on the state of various things. The fire. Garcia's survival pack. Emily. When he did, Derek made plenty of noise, to scare off potential prey out here.

He is up and it is early. The sky is a misty gray, and the stench of fuel is still too close at hand. Instead of focusing on that, Derek makes himself concentrate on other things. What is necessary. He checks on Emily and JJ and finds them sleeping fitfully, both cold. Glancing around, Derek locates the clothes Garcia passed along to them, and rearranges them over the ladies. The last thing they need is hypothermia. Hotch is moving in the woods, and Derek doesn't have a clue what he's even doing walking around. Next he finds Garcia asleep by the dying fire. Reid, curled up near her. Rossi's got the pitiful rations from Garcia's pack and is busy dividing them, poking the fire to life with kindling and a stick.

"Breakfast?" Rossi offers humorlessly.

The truth is, Derek doesn't want to eat, even though he's starving. Instinct has him holding back. Save the food for those who need it the most. The smallest - that would be Reid - or the sickest - Emily.

"I'm good," he lies. "I'm gonna go see about water."

"Stay in shouting distance," Rossi advises, and then thinks better of it. "It's better if we stay together anyway. I found a stream last night when I was scouting."

Derek wants to ask when the hell Rossi had time to go scouting, but doesn't. There's a lot about Rossi that Derek doesn't get. Like, how they can be in this godforsaken place, and Dave can possibly still have a spring in his step? How he can look like he's actually enjoying the sights out here? Derek just wants to get the hell out. He just wants them all to be safe.

* * *

Derek's moving through the trees quietly. At the last second, he decides to take the poncho Garcia offered last night. He feels ridiculous in it, but only a little. Fact of the matter is, they need to stay alive, and that means staying warm.

"Bugs," Rossi observes. "Bugs mean we're close"

But Derek doesn't respond. He just wants to do what they came to do and get back. He doesn't feel great about being out here. His entire body is sore from being jarred during the crash, and, he suspects, from sleeping on the cold ground.

Turns out, they _are_ close, and Rossi has some weird hunter's sixth sense about things like this. After more walking than he cares to do, Derek's staring at a stream.

"Too bad we didn't bring a rod…we could probably catch something nice out here," Rossi observes.

Derek shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't fish."

"You don't _fish_, or you don't _eat _fish?" Rossi presses, bending down with Garcia's empty containers. They wont drink from them, but they need something to carry the water back in.

"Both," Derek answers shortly.

* * *

It's too quiet on the way back. Quiet enough for every single one of Derek's doubts to surface. All the what ifs that he dare not say aloud. He is pretty sure that everyone else has wrestled with them by now, but Derek's a champion at stuffing things down that he is not ready to face. He hates it out here. Hates that it's freaking his friends out, hates that there is no way to signal for help except for a tiny mirror.

If he were a praying man, he would pray for a clear day, so that search planes could find them. But he knows all too well that praying doesn't get you anywhere.

"I feel it, too," Rossi says. No other explanation. Just this.

Derek sends him a look. One eyebrow's cocked for a good measure.

"Being out in nature opens you up. We're used to being busy. To having a schedule. To grasping the illusion that we're somehow in control of our own destiny. But the truth is, we're not."

"Don't you _talk_ about God to me," Derek warns, his tone light, but seriousness deep in his gaze.

"Look, all I'm saying is, I understand. And I'm here if you need anything."

Derek wants to deny it. Deny him. Tell Rossi that he doesn't understand at all. But the woods suddenly seem as sacred as the confessional that Derek never visits. "Too many memories…" he admits, his voice soft. "The only time I did anything outside was when that son-of-a-bitch wanted to… Fishing. Swimming. It's all messed up in my brain now, and I can't look at it the same."

Rossi, thank God, is quiet, just listening.

Derek stops. Looks at him. Dares him to say one thing. Just one that will make Derek feel worse than he does already.

"Makes sense," Rossi offers gently. And then, his hand is on Derek's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's all right," Derek reassures, even though it's not and they both know it. He shrugs off Rossi's hand, but stays beside him. Derek can't pass him up. Can't leave a man behind. It's not in him.

* * *

They get back to the others in time to see most gathered around the fire, warming up. JJ, Garcia and Spencer sit close together - Hotch across from them - all speaking in low tones. Emily makes pitiful sounds when she thinks no one is listening. He doesn't poke his head in, because he doesn't want to embarrass her. But he hurts for her. Wishes they could have gotten to her sooner.

Derek makes a decision and gets the hot chocolate package out of one of Garcia's MREs. That's going to Miss Emily, who is too stubborn to admit she might need more than a few layers of clothing to keep warm. He knows water is necessary, but right now, so is warmth, and Emily's greatest risk right now is her temperature. If he could remedy both at once, by God, he was gonna do it.

He pours the water in a tiny pot and holds it carefully over the fire. He sees Spencer pick up the mirror. It will be daylight soon, and not for long either. So, Derek hopes like hell they are found in the next four hours.

He brings the hot chocolate to Emily, who props herself up on her elbows, looking terrible as he's ever seen her. Derek offers her a sip and for once, she accepts, no tough girl act.

"Thank you," she says, trying to smile.

"How's the leg?" he asks, risking a look at it, grateful that the worst of the damage is covered up.

"Hurts," she admits, and for Emily, that's a lot.

"Well, I got a good feeling about today. We're gonna get out of here, all right? Reid's out there flashin' bat signals to the planes already."

"Derek?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Don't make promises you cant keep."


	7. Chapter 7

_No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path_. - The Buddha

It takes a lot for JJ to leave Emily, but she knows she has to. If they have any chance of being rescued, she has to. After sitting by the fire and having some breakfast and some tea, at Derek's insistence, JJ excuses herself.

"Where to?" Rossi asks, and JJ almost snaps at him, but holds her tongue. She holds up the small package of Kleenex that Garcia has set down off to the side to indicate that their facilities - just a specific tree far enough away from the campsite - are available.

"Well, we're working on building up the fire. Hurry back and you can help us with it."

JJ wants to tell Rossi to build up his own damn fire, but instead, manages a short nod, and starts off down the path. Once she reaches her destination, JJ keeps walking, marking her trail with whatever she can find, so she doesn't get lost. She hates the woods with a passion, but some things just took priority. At least it's daylight now. As far as JJ's concerned, it's way better than slipping away in the dead of night to try and figure out what the hell was hurting her.

All she had on her at the time was a tiny, weak flashlight and some antiseptic, gauze and medical tape from Garcia's supply. And a single feminine product which was obviously…not from Garcia's supply. What she found had been absolutely terrifying. A ragged-looking laceration down the left side of her torso. There was a bruise around it, and for the first time, JJ had realized just how bad this could be.

This time, she's come prepared. Glad that she's been nicknamed Dr. Jaraeu, Medicine Woman, and therefore inherited every medical supply, JJ has them all with her, smuggling Garcia's backpack with her into the woods.

Carefully, JJ strips off her vest and her black shirt beneath it. The injury is worse in the daytime. It throbs. It aches. She prays to God that it isn't infected. What she really needs is someone with some sewing skills to come and stitch her up, but she knows Garcia would probably pass out before she would volunteer to do wilderness surgery on her best friend.

Jesus, it looks nasty. JJ knows this because she's managed to peel back the pounds of gauze and tape she secured to herself last night. She makes herself look at it. Makes herself disinfect her hands and then put antiseptic on the whole damn thing. She hisses air through her teeth. She gasps. But she forces herself not to cry out. If she does, the whole team will be out here and they'll know. They'll know how the plane bit into her side as she forced herself out. And they'll know about the numerous smaller burns on her arms. JJ fixed those, too, the best she could, last night.

But today's a new day, and that means, a dressing change. And that means hell, but only for a few minutes. If she can just grit her teeth and do this, and be a woman, then it'll all be okay.

Tears and sweat pour down her face and JJ does her best not to breathe on her open wound before she swathes it in gauze and tape. It's still bleeding, but at least she doesn't see any obvious signs of infection. Yet. JJ's not going to bode well if they're stuck out here. She meant what she said to Emily last night.

But, JJ reminds herself, she is out here for another reason, too. So as soon as she is done fixing herself, she forces herself up. This is as good a place as any for her first marker. It's open, and the sun is streaming in.

She collects a few rocks and arranges them carefully in the dirt, making sure the letters stand out, and are large enough to be seen from a good distance: S.O.S.

* * *

Then, JJ walks for what feels like forever. But she has a goal in mind, and that makes her determined. When her side aches, she pushes forward. Thanks to Garcia's bag of tricks, she has a compass, so she will not get lost. This is her only chance. She smiles to herself, but it's more a grimace than anything else. As hard as their job is, it does teach them some useful stuff. Like, a few years ago, in Houston, they had worked a case where a war veteran was in a major PTSD flashback.

It hadn't ended well, but JJ always filed away useful pieces of information. From that case, she had taken away their war vet's distress signals. The S.O.S rocks, and the flags. True, JJ doesn't have three hazard orange flags to triangulate their location with, but Garcia, in her own way, has come to the rescue again. Folded neatly in the bottom of the bag are six bandanas. Orange, pink, purple, light blue, yellow and white with red polka dots.

JJ has already decided. She'll use the brightest colored ones. She will somehow find higher ground, tape the fabric to a stick and stake it in the dirt. She is exhausted, and she can hear Hotch calling her name.

"JJ!"

"Here! I'll be back in a second!" she calls back, so they won't come looking for her. There's blood drying on her hands, and the last thing she wants is them knowing that she's hurt.

She blinks and spots dance in front of her eyes. JJ stops and drags in a deep breath. If she passes out, it won't help anyone. But she apparently didn't do a very good job bandaging herself because blood is now soaking into the waist of her jeans. She forces herself to keep going. She pushes herself, and thinks of her hard-ass soccer coach who used to say, "If you can breathe, you can move! Now move your ass!"

This is her mantra. This is how she gets to her first location - for the yellow bandana, and lashes it to the biggest stick she can find, with tape. It's high enough ground. It will have to be. Because JJ cannot do this twice more if she kills herself on the first attempt.

She still has orange and light blue to do. But she pushes forward. And when she sticks each of the final flags somewhere she prays they will be seen, JJ feels victorious.

* * *

When the few short hours of daylight start to fade, JJ feels tears too close at hand.

She is exhausted. Emily is too quiet. Spencer is flashing some kind of Morse code madly with the mirror. He's been doing the same thing all day. And Garcia and the guys have been simultaneously trying to feed the fire and keep it controlled.

JJ's almost ready to confess her injury to someone, anyone, who might be able to make the pain go away, when she hears it:

The subtle, but familiar chopping sound of helicopter blades overhead.

* * *

Hours later, they are all recuperating somewhere. Despite everyone's best efforts, most are dehydrated. Most have suffered burns, not just Emily and JJ. Thankfully, Spencer's head wound is minor and Emily's burn is now being tended in a sterile environment, not the middle of nowhere.

For her part, JJ tries to stoically endure the countless stitches to her side without too much whining, but God, it hurts. She is kept overnight, and when Will shows up with Henry, and they climb carefully into bed beside her, JJ's throat closes with tears.

"Oh, thank God…" Will says, looking pale and exhausted. Still, he leans in and kiss her hard.

Henry shoves a hand between them, angry at being ignored.

Tears slip down her cheeks.

She is home.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The next time they fly as a team, it is months later. All of them are nervous, but manage to take a little comfort in knowing that they are on the jet, not a floatplane. That they are headed to somewhere innocuous like Idaho, instead of Alaska. Garcia stays behind. The consensus is that Garcia is lucky.

Rossi tries to lighten the mood by quoting ridiculous online updates, and it works. A little. The truth is that anyone looking at them from the outside wouldn't be able to see what they know to be true.

That, despite their best efforts, Emily's burn was badly infected, so much so that doctors thought she might lose the leg. Thankfully, it hadn't come to that. She had endured painful burn treatments and rehab and had to come to terms, psychologically, with the potential loss of a limb. She had attacked it like everything else, doing intense research from the hospital, even calling Garcia and asking her to research things like the best prosthetic for field work and phantom pain. Thank God, she still had her leg. It looked like hell, but it was hers. Now, she sits, asking questions about this unsub, these victims, as if nothing is amiss. As if, nothing ever happened. But the truth is in her eyes when they hit turbulence. In the way they flash and in the way she grips the armrest.

No one on the outside would know that Spencer's new haircut - the one Hotch made fun of as soon as they saw each other again - was borne out of necessity not vanity. He needs bangs to cover the scar on his forehead. It's distracting otherwise. For now, though. Spencer shares details of this case with fervor. It has been a long time since they have worked a case and he has been waiting for this. He doesn't have to admit this because everyone knows it's true, but he misses it when they are not together.

Rossi is still sore, though he won't admit it to anyone. If they try to ask about it, he changes the subject. But the truth of the matter is that ice and heat have been his best friends. The truth is he is scared to be on a plane, as he suspects most of them are. Through he slept through the crash that could have killed them; anxiety is still there, an ever-present reminder of all that he could lose.

Hotch keeps his focus steady and his routine stringent. He is home with Jack. It is what he wanted. What he asked Haley for when no one was around. Somehow, he got that gift, while she never got the chance: time. He is determined not to short-change his son. He barely thinks about the pencil that stabbed him anymore, but when they are flying and one rolls precariously to the edge of the table in front of them, he finds himself catching it. He finds himself putting it securely in his bag and zipping it closed.

JJ, somehow, still gasps if she moves wrong - as if she is pulling stitches that don't really exist. She is worried about this case, and she picks them with extra care now, trying to weigh factors like a statistician. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't help asking new questions now. Like, what's the risk to us? How long is the flight? What are the conditions? She knows there is no way to predict these things but she still drives herself crazy trying. Somehow, she came away from the crash site without infection, when the truth is, a wound like that could have easily killed her. She is glad for her ingenuity. For her single-mindedness. For her determination to get them all found. The flags, the helicopter pilot said, were what did it. They spotted the orange one, and then the rest. As proud as she is of being strong, when the plane shudders, all bets are off. When the pilot comes on the intercom to announce anything at all, she reaches out reflexively to squeeze Emily's hand. And the amazing part is? Emily lets her.

Derek doesn't know how he occupied himself these last months. Life without work was like life without a purpose. So he poured himself into his teammates, calling them, visiting them, making sure they were all okay. Long before anyone else, Derek was back in the office. The scar on his arm isn't something he hides. He is proud of it. He even goes out of his way to show it off, and the ladies swoon. But he doesn't do this often. He never does it when the other team members are around.

Garcia, with all her forethought and knowledge is probably the single reason they are all still here, and they know it. With her bag of supplies, it gave them a fighting chance that they would not have otherwise had. She came away physically unscathed, but psychologically, it's a little murky. Anxiety is a constant companion, even worse than before, because now, she has it on good authority that planes _do _crash, bad things _do _happen, and it drives her crazy knowing that she is not there on most of these trips. Though she knows that Hotch has invested in a survival kit, which he keeps near him on every flight. He told her that before they left. Probably, to ease her mind, but it hasn't. Back at the BAU, in her office, she is worried sick about her babies.

* * *

When the plane touches down, Derek gets on his phone and calls Garcia.

"Hey, beautiful."

"Hey, back." She sounds nervous. Tense.

"We made it. Safe and sound," he reassures walking through the airport. He tosses the phone to Rossi who looks confused but says hello. The process is repeated time and time again. Emily is last.

She hoists her bag higher on her shoulder and tries not to limp, swatting away Derek's hand when he tries to take her baggage.

"Hey. Yeah, we're fine-"

"Hey, Garcia! Love you!" JJ calls

"Love you, too. Come home safe." Garcia insists.

"We will," Emily assures, confident, even now. "I promise."


End file.
